You keep thinking that as Sturt and his band of explorers struggled to each crest and saw, not the fabled inland sea, but another dry and dusty plain rolling to yet another line of low hills, that the odd expletive might have been muttered. But these chaps were made of stern stuff -- after all, they were conquering a continent for Queen and country.
In contrast to those brave pioneers, we were cutting across the rich tapestry of the Outback in unseemly comfort. And, it must be admitted, at a pace several dozen times faster than Sturt and his men.
Audi hatched the plan to launch its first SUV, the Q7 (see our international launch review here), with a bold trans-continental odyssey from Sydney to Broome. Fifteen cars and over 100 invited participants would make the 7000km trek in four legs over three weeks.
Our section started in Broken Hill – once the second-largest city in New South Wales, built on the richest silver, lead and zinc ore-body in the world -- a seven-kilometre long, boomerang-shaped vein that peaks near the surface and tails down many hundreds of metres into the earth.
As mining has tailed off in recent years so has the population, but the convoy of big-boned Audi Q7’s still attracted admiring glances outside the city’s remaining 19 pubs – the other 60-odd now replaced by art-galleries; this was, after all, the life-long home of Pro Hart. Yet the one-time Silver City is fast becoming Australia’s Hollywood; in the past few years, Broken Hill has hosted the makers of movies such as Mad Max 2, Priscilla, A Town like Alice and the still-in-production Peter Falconio murder docu-drama.
Our own desert storm
We turn north, towards the Packsaddle roadhouse, an authentic mix of petrol station, pub and general store. The road vacillates between bitumen and gravel, but presents no problems to the new uber-SUVs. They romp and stomp across terrain that might present problems to lesser vehicles. But we’re not in lesser vehicles.
However, it’s unseasonably cold and unusually windy – the column of 15 cars puts up a dust-cloud that would have been admired by the Desert Storm troupe; when the road crosses the wind, the dust billows across the desert, but heading into or out of it cuts visibility to metres, so the column telescopes across a couple of kilometres.
Surprisingly, although we’re linked by CB radios, journalists aren’t a chatty bunch – warnings come through about oncoming vehicles and sudden road hazards, but mostly, we’re free to concentrate on the drive.
A gourmet lunch at Depot Glen, the spot where Sturt camped for six desperate months in 1845, is in stark contrast to the conditions he and his men faced. As they searched for water, Sturt’s second in command James Poole died the day after being sent back to Adelaide. He is buried a short distance away.
Milparinka is as close to a living ghost town as you’ll get – hewn from the unforgiving desert in the heat of a gold-rush, the land has all but claimed it back – the ubiquitous pub remains, and someone’s building a new double-story house, despite the graveyard having more residents than the town.
Forty kilometres away, Tibooburra is a much more active town (population 150-ish) and big enough to accommodate two pubs; the 1883 Family Hotel features R-rated murals by famed artist Clifton Pugh. When the School of the Air was still operating, Tib was home to the only school in Australia that had pupils in the classroom as well as spread across thousands of square miles of the Outback.
Corner Country
After a chilly night spent camping in cosy comfort, we head towards Cameron Corner – the point at which Queensland meets New South Wales and South Australia and named for the surveyor who determined where the states start and end in 1880. To reach the isolated Corner Store, visitors must open and close a gate in the 5400km-long Dog Fence. The owner admits that on most days in winter, he’ll see upwards of a hundred vehicles a day, but in the sweltering hot summer, he could go five days without seeing another soul.
To get there, 140km of dramatically worse roads were casually dispensed with by the 15 Audis. A series of sharp switchbacks become Swedish rally-style “yumps” with enough speed, and the two-and-a-half ton cars top out their sophisticated air suspension systems.
On the sat-nav system, there’s a choice of one road -- as straight as a hospital flat-line. My co-driver for the day is Frank van Meel, the Dutch-born engineer who’s overseen the Q7’s evolution from the Pike’s Peak concept car, into an all-singing, all-dancing SUV.
Not only is Frank fluent in five languages but he’s passionate about the Q7 – and he can pedal too. I asked him if the weakest link in car safety wasn’t now the driver.
He laughed, agreeing that electronics were destined to become more dominant (there are already over 90 separate electronic control units in the basic Q7) but pointed out that the organic brain was still better than a computer.
By way of illustration, van Meel suggested that if the driver of a horse-drawn wagon fell asleep, the wagon wouldn’t crash. “The automatic collision avoidance system would redirect the vehicle – in other words, the horse would avoid the tree.”
Outside, there’s little chance of hitting a tree. The scenery is both constantly the same and constantly changing – largely flat, with barren surfaces. Occasional low hills and eroded dry creeks made the land outside the confines of the road hard to traverse – yet there had been recent rains, as evidenced by rock-hard dried tyre-ruts.
We rampage between sand dunes and through Queensland’s gas fields.
Elsewhere, sudden turns are littered with sand, dust and rocks, yet nothing seems to faze the Q7. I arrive at a turn much too fast and twirl the wheel, the ESP banging away on various brakes trying to keep the car going where we’re pointed.
“You experienced a significant ESP episode,” explained Frank. “It means, the car just saved your life.”
Next stop is Innamincka, archetypal Outback pub and just a stones-throw from the spot where John Burke died in 1861. Here we overnight in rooms that could be stunt-doubles for cupboards, but tin plates laden with massive servings settle the grumbling.
Birdsville’s moved
The next day, we blast through 480km of the road to Birdsville. At times, the track is barely discernable, at others, it’s a diabolical sandpit, or scraped a foot lower than the surrounding plains.
Sometimes it’s littered with rounded river stones, at others, they’re razor-edged quartz or granite chips, all intent on slashing tyres to ribbons. Eventually one tyre does let go and the tread is ripped off the two sidewalls, but despite this, the car’s self-preservation systems keep it in line as the driver pulls over safely.
We all stop as the back-up technicians efficiently swap the wheel – thankfully Audi has retained the full-sized spare wheel (on the five and six-seat versions at least).
About now, we catch up to the annual Postie Bike Challenge, going this year from Brisbane to Alice Springs at 70 km/h. With a quick warning on the CB, the Audi drivers give the intrepid bikers a wide berth and it’s a last opportunity to stretch the Q7s before our stint ends.
With a clear road ahead and the utter conviction that Birdsville is in the NT, I put the hammer down and see 200km/h flick into sight. On dirt!
It’s one hell of a machine.
CarPoint will publish its local launch review of the new Audi Q7 shortly.